


Sleight of Mind

by Roadstergal



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drugs, Gen, Insanity, Mindfuck, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 05:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13968693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: Gapfillers for Avengers and Dark World.





	1. Chapter 1

It seemed like memories used to work differently.  But he couldn't remember properly how they used to work, could he.  It was ironic.  Amusing, perhaps?  That was difficult to tell.

None of that mattered.  All that mattered was how they worked _now_.  Memories of his home, his brother ( _no_ ), his father ( _not_ ), his mother ( _NO_ ), were stabs of gut-churning, fiery, flashing pain.  Ambition, rule, a crown, war and blood - the sweetness of the lack of pain was addictive.  Loki took those thoughts, held them close, dwelled on them.  Kept the pain at bay.

The scepter was hot, almost too hot to touch, but the pain increased when he did not hold it.  Clutch it tight.  Both hands.

He had to sit.  He had been standing, walking, pacing for too long, with no reason, just waiting, waiting for the pieces to fall into place.  Surely he could stay awake even if he sat for just a moment...

His body betrayed him, drifting into sleep.  The craggy rocks that were his sleep now, where The Other waited for him, endlessly.  Demanding progress.  Threatening.  And always Thanos, behind him, watching with detached amusement, his ability to inflict unmatched agony only surpassed by his ability to care so little, think so little of Loki while doing it. An ant, a roach, one kept alive only for some moderate use.

Thanos was always ready to snap Loki back to wakefulness with a little _burst_.  A reminder, to leave Loki facing reality shaking and sweating.

Loki pulled himself back to his feet with the help of the staff.  Those minutes were enough.  He could stave off sleep for... longer.

He began to pace again.  Once he was king, he would be his own man.  Thanos would take what he wanted and leave Loki alone, releasing the roach to scuttle away, free. Or Loki would die trying.

Either way, he could rest.

 

* * *

 

 

It _hurt_ to lose the scepter.  Ripping off a scab - and taking the flesh surrounding it, as well.

The bonds, however, helped.  The chains and the gag.  Neutered, hamstrung - the burning, frantic desire to _fight_ and _rule_ were lessened, somewhat.

And after all, he was going to his death.  That brought peace with it.  The voices receded.  Thanos and The Other pushed him aside, a roach that someone _else_ had stepped on.

He still couldn't look at Thor.  Not at his face, not in his eyes.  Seeing them, so earnest, sad, blue pools of _wanting_ Loki to be a better person than he could - it was more than Loki could bear.

But it _wasn't_ death.  That would have been too easy, too merciful.

Just life in a cell almost as restrictive as the one in his mind.  He was still visited in his sleep, more pale ghosts of Thanos and The Other, now, the torments more vague and more enduring.  Holding tightly to his lost ambition kept the ghosts at bay while he was awake, but not asleep.

Four thousand years of this.

Thor had always thought him a coward, and his ( _not_ ) brother was right.  He did not have the courage to end it himself.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sir."  The Asgardian solider clicked his heels together neatly and saluted.  He was still young, fresh in the guards, with not quite 200 years of service on his record.  Pride swelled in him still, whenever he strapped on his armor.  It had seen no use save the practice field, so far, but he would have a chance to use it in a proper war.  He was certain

Although his current duty had neither action nor honor, he would perform it to the best of his abilities, looking forward to the day when he would truly be a warrior.

"Off to the prisons again, Lothur," the commander noted, stamping his orders.  Her hands, so nimble with sword and spear, fumbled uncomfortably with data scrolls.  She laboriously checked off his orders and handed his scroll back.

"Yes, commander..." he bit his lip.  "Permission to ask a question?"

"Permission to ask, no guarantee of answer," she noted, laconically.

"I... the prison... duty is highly unpleasant."  Lothur kept his back straight and his eyes forward.  "May I request less frequent shifts?"

She rocked back in her chair, looking at him laconically.  "We have but one regular occupant - is that too much for you?"

"No, sir, it's very orderly, I appreciate that.  But..." Lothur shifted slightly on his feet, "he... um... screams when he sleeps."  It raced down his spine and made him wince and shiver, every time.

The commander sighed.  She grabbed the scroll back from him, and opened up a new request.  She laboriously typed in a new order, one finger at a time.  "Take this to the herbalist.  Make sure he gives you the right thing - a white flower with a sour smell.  Grind it up and put it in his food, one flower a day.  More if it doesn't work."

Lothur took the pad back. "But... he doesn't eat..."

"Then put it in his water, his tea, whatever he puts in his mouth.  It'll quiet him down.  I won't be re-assigning my guards because of some noises, is that clear?"

Lothur clicked his heels smartly.  "Yes, sir."  He paused.  "Sir... should I let the royal family know?"

"They need not be consulted on such a minor matter."

"Yes, sir."


	3. Chapter 3

The drugs helped.

It amused Loki, darkly, to see the guard try to hide what he was doing.  He waited for the appropriate time to comment laconically _How about two, tonight, I'm feeling like a celebration_ , and watch the guard jump, guiltily.  That was one-time-use entertainment, after all.

The drugs made him numb, and that was all he could ask for.  With their help, he could even sleep without dreams, now and then.  Or at least he didn't remember them.  It was something to do, other than read books about seid, practice seid, and try to determine if a sharp enough fragment of chair would do the job, or just make a bloody mess.

Hanging was _out_.  An utterly ignoble way to die, eyes bulging and tongue black.

The day came when the guard did not bring him his drugged tea - too busy with the sudden influx of prisoners.  Loki hadn't realized how much he had come to appreciate the pleasing numbness.  All he could do was pace, and watch, and notice the way the prisons were filling... the stupid bastards still had their armor, sharp edges and horns, and did not _use_ them.

Something was happening, something beyond the occasional Asgardian sleeping off a bender, beyond the regular ebb and flow of interplanetary battles bringing enemy combatants and political prisoners.

The guards said nothing, Frigga ( _not his mother_ ) told him nothing, appearing as a glamour, as if to taunt him with his isolation from his family ( _not his family_ ). He did not give the guards the satisfaction of asking.

Without the drugs, he did not dare to sleep.  It was all becoming too real again.  He was starting to _remember_ \- his past, his childhood, his times in Asgard with Frigga, and Odin, and Thor, the names bringing him _back_ , and he grasped his ambition tight to keep the pain at bay.  Let the prisoners escape.  Let them raid the palace.  Let them burn it all down, good riddance.

Let them kill Frigga.  The only worthwhile Asgardian left, the only beauty and kindness in the multiverse.  Let the one who told him be that young idiot of a guard - not Thor, not Odin.

Something broke, then, and it was white-hot burning, blinding, screaming, a supernova of loss.

And then nothing.  Emptiness, nothing, dull pain and isolation. 

Freedom, of a sort.


End file.
